Thursday, March 26, 2009

The Dream

In my apartment, and I heard a car door slam in front of my apartment, so being the nosy person I am I took a peek through the blinds to see who it was. It was a youngish man, my age, with a six-pack of bottled beer in a paper bag under his arm, and, noticing that I was peeking, he came right up to the window and peered back through the blinds, scaring me for a moment. And then he started calling in to me, asking who was there, asking me to come out and join him. I hesitated, he backed off a little, I ran to the window and called back out to him and he turned around, smiling.

He made some promise as he walked away, down the street to wherever he lived, some enticement to get me to come out. I stayed frozen in indecision, but I should have followed him. I should have taken him up on that promise. Too late, though, because it all faded in to a different scene ....

It was a party, and I didn't know he was going to be there, but he was. The house it was at was on a cul-de-sac, and for some reason there were a lot of strange men biking around and into it to arrive at this shindig.

I knew in the dream that I was still avoiding him — he was not my friend, never was, I just didn't realize it until a little while back — and when my parents showed up and saw him, I somehow managed to steer them away without explaining why I didn't want them to meet him, or chat with him. But then he came over to chat to me. I wanted it to be brief, but he kept talking as if we were still friends and then he told me his mom and brother were arriving, and started steering me over to meet them as they came in.

I ran into my sister, who knows the whole story between us, as we were heading over to the entrance. She glared when she saw him right behind me, his hands on my shoulder, but I snagged her and whispered as I went by, "He wants to introduce me to his mom. Just let it go for now. Don't say anything." And then she disappeared back into the crowd as we moved past.

His mother in my dream (I've never met his real mother) was small, weak, floppy like a broken doll, but he seemed so happy to see her and so proud of her it cracked that wall of reserve I'd been keeping up, though it was cracked a bit already &mdash he wanted me to meet his family, I was important to him.

My dreams only tell me what I want to be so. I want to be important, though I know I'm not. The longer the silence, the more I know it's true. I feel like a fool for ignoring the actions for so long, but listening to the words. The gestures were few and far between, just enough to keep me hoping, never enough to keep me secure.

I leave tomorrow, to be gone for almost two weeks in a place 6,000 miles away. And still no gesture. I've gotten the message ... but, call me nostalgic, I just wish it was a different one.

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